Mickey Reichert - The legend of Nightfall

Still, convincing Prince Edward of the fact seemed hopeless. At the least, the incidents with highwaymen and the spade demonstrated that the prince had a tenacity rarely seen in crusaders with vision tunneled by their own idealism. It gave Nightfall some hope that, once educated to the facts, Edward might effectively direct his actions toward attacking the foundation of the problems of the poor instead of preaching directionlessly or diving ignorantly into individual circumstances. Nightfall shook the idea from his mind. By the Fathers pissing crown, it’s not my job to teach him reality. All I have to do is keep the poor, dumb fool oblivious until I get him some land. Yet, the belief that King Rikard had sent son and squire out to die haunted Nightfall’s thoughts. In some ways, the abuse Alyndar’s king inflicted on his younger son seemed uglier than that of Nightfall’s mother. At least Nightfall had learned what to expect from her, and she had not shrouded her cruelty behind false kindness.

As the white gelding quieted, Nightfall moved out of the way, trying to make his maneuver appear uncalculated. He never knew what simple act might impugn the manners of royalty; they seemed to memorize so many arbitrary details of behavior and draw offense from those who did not. But Prince Edward took no interest in Nightfall’s actions. Instead, his gaze focused on the lop-sided squares of farmland and the distant huddle of houses beyond. Like Telwinar, most of the farmers lived in cottages amid their fields while Delfor’s other citizenry dwelt in the town proper, tending shops and plying trades. Children scattered across the croplands, preparing the ground for spring planting.

As they rode along the trail from forest to village Edward remained in an uncharacteristic silence. Nightfall shifted, uneasy with the prince’s quiet. Left to think too long, he would surely emerge with some marginally useful and wholly dangerous plan. Still, the hush gave Nightfall time for consideration as well. His instincts kicked in first, and it occurred to him that more hoof and foot tracks than usual scarred ground dried into ridges since the thaw. The horses rocked over hillocks surrounding the deepest of the prints, sliding into the impressions. They kept to a slow pace so as not to injure the horses’ ankles, and even the white gelding ceased its dancing to lower its head and choose its steps.

Nightfall frowned at the implications of numerous visitors to a farm town. Traders and travelers, in groups of two to five, often stopped in Delfor. Though small, the village provided more comfort and security than another cold, damp night in the forest, a quiet haven between Nemix and the wild, trading city of Trillium. The latter sat just outside the jurisdictions of Kings Idinbal, Rikard, Gonrastin of Ivral, and Shisen’s King Jolund. It kept trade free, allowing the merchanting of items and objects outlawed by individual countries. Thoughts of the crossroad city intensified Nightfall’s discomfort. That open selling included slaves, and he shuddered to consider the chaos Prince Edward could instigate in such a place. Avoiding it seemed wisest, but Nightfall doubted they could. Edward’s geography lessons surely mentioned the largest city on the continent, and Nightfall’s best information sources lived there. One of his identities, Balshaz, the honest merchant, dwelt there on an irregular basis. I’ll just have to steer him away from the raunchier parts of town. Taking a lesson from Nemix, Nightfall knew that plan would prove far more difficult than it seemed.

Prince Edward’s voice broke Nightfall’s contemplation. "What are those children doing? Playing some sort of game?"

Nightfall turned his attention to the seven youngest of a farmer named Pizah. The three largest tossed stones from the field into a rickety cart that jounced, shuddered, and threatened to break as each rock landed. The middle two gathered seeds and roots from the previous year’s crop, dragging up the earliest volunteer shoots of new corn in a field now intended for hay. Two toddlers hammered at clumps of mud with sticks, breaking the biggest clods in preparation for the plow. "They’re working, Master."

The horses’ hooves made little noise on the soft ground. None of the children seemed to notice the newcomers.

Prince Edward made no comment, just a thoughtful noise. He drew the gelding to a halt, studying the tattered homespun and grimy faces.

Nightfall drew up beside his prince, not caring for the delay but seeing justice in Edward’s discomfort.

The gelding stomped, snorting impatiently. Its hoof caught in the edge of an impression, and it flounced into a bucking dance, regaining its footing on the softer surface of field. A few of the children glanced over, and their comments drew the eyes of the others. Soon all seven stared at the well-nourished prince, resplendent even in his simple travel linens, and the attentive squire emblazoned in Alyndar’s colors.

"Where are their parents?" Edward asked.

"Working, too, Master." Nightfall remained in place as the prince returned the gelding to the roadway. "Their mother’s probably cleaning or cooking or sewing or sorting seed. Their father’s off fixing the plow or mending horse fence or patching the roof. There’s always a million things that need doing on a farm, Master; and usually six or seven of those are urgent." Nightfall knew the truth of his words only too well. Without the myriad hands and neighbors’ children Telwinar paid, he could never have carried off the charade. As it was, Nightfall’s escapades covered most of Telwinar’s expenses. Luckily, helpers well and quickly paid rarely questioned, even to themselves; and Telwinar chose his assistants with care.

The white gelding launched into another of its stumbling romps, obviously goaded by impatience. This time, the awkward movements unbalanced Edward, and he jerked the reins in anger. The horse whipped into a half rear, twisting as spongy ground shifted beneath its hind legs. The beast panicked, flailing for footing, and Edward tumbled from its saddle again. "Damn!" The horse fell to its front knees. It continued to flounder until it fully regained its foundation, feet widely braced.

Perhaps the horse is worth keeping just for the humor of it. Nightfall choked back a laugh with heroic effort, though the children loosed a few giggles before propriety and fear hushed them. He leapt from the bay’s saddle careful to favor his injured leg, and ran to Prince Edward’s side. "Master! Are you hurt?" He extended his right hand to assist.

Prince Edward rose, ignoring the offering. He glared at the horse. "I’m fine." Clapping mud from his travel linens, he looked disapprovingly at the dirt clinging to the horse’s forelegs. Steadying the gelding, he opened his pack and rummaged through it. He pulled out a stiff-bristled grooming brush that he handed to Nightfall. He then drew forth a silk riding cloak, donning it over his dirt-speckled shirt and britches. Closing the pack, he mounted, waiting. Grumbling epithets beneath his breath, Nightfall took several swipes at the dirt on the horse’s legs. The clumps fell free, smearing the mud beneath. As clearly fed up with the matter, the horse explored the back of Nightfall’s neck with a muzzle sloppy from saliva and snot. Nightfall tensed but resisted the urge to give the animal a sharp slap across the questing nostrils, concerned it might dump the prince again if he did. His efforts with the brush seemed only to thin and spread the brown stain farther along the horse’s legs in both directions. The white’s coat attracted dirt like its manure drew flies.

The gelding took an experimental nip at Nightfall’s ear. Cued by the hot breath, he sprang backward before the teeth closed. His head struck the beast a clouting blow across the mouth, for which he felt no remorse. The minor and temporary headache seemed small price to pay for vengeance. “Master, I’ll need water to finish the job."